Camping Fever
by MrsMCrieff
Summary: A bit of fluffy Sherlolly fun. Molly goes on a camping holiday and Sherlock decides he doesn't like being left behind.
1. Chapter 1

**Right well I'm being fickle. As I finished my last fic I thought I was going to post my new crime fic but I've changed my mind. Blame Ben but having seen his amazing turn as Richard III in the Hollow Crown series I wanted to write something as a small tribute.**

 **This fic is based on a picture I saw of a camping store with the strap line that's mentioned in the story and I thought it would be fun to write something around it. It was supposed to be short but it's growing and has ended up multi-chapter...I always get carried away.**

 **Camping Fever**

Molly stood in front of the camping shop window and groaned at the pun plastered across the window **Now is the winter of our discount tents**. As word plays went she supposed it was rather a good one but she did wonder what Shakespeare would think of his opening Richard III line being used to sell camping equipment but given he was quite the wordsmith she supposed he'd find it funny.

She walked the aisles of the store and wondered if she wasn't a little mad. She hadn't been camping in well over ten years and she had no one to go with so why...why was she contemplating buying a tent and heading to the great outdoors?

If she were brutally honest though she knew why. It all came down to her memories of her dad. They'd often gone camping in the summer. Her mum would cook sausages and eggs on a small camp stove whilst her and her dad would play badminton at the side of the tent. She had so many happy memories and she just wanted to recreate that feeling of sleeping under the stars and being close to nature.

In the end she picked up a small pop up style two man tent. She didn't want anything too complicated if she was having to put it up by herself. She had asked around some of her friends to see if they'd be interested but none of them were. They were far more interested in getting dolled up on a Saturday night and heading into London drinking and prowling for men than swapping stories over a camp fire. Molly contemplated, not for the first time, if she needed to get a new set of friends, she seemed to have less and less in common with them as the years went by.

By the time she had finished Molly had spent a lot more than she expected too. It seemed you couldn't just get a tent you needed a ground sheet, air bed, fold up seats, camp stove, mini pots and pans. The list was endless and in order to even get it all home she'd had to buy a big rucksack to house it all in. How exactly was this cheap holidaying? She thought to herself.

Getting on the tube with a massive ruck sack was something of an achievement and she half wished she had hired a cab but cabs were so expensive in London nowadays and she could rarely justify it to herself.

The next week was spent finding a camp site, hiring a pitch and a car to get her there. She also booked a couple of days off work. If she were going to do this she was going to do it properly and spend a few days there. She plumped for a site near the coast on the edge of the New Forest, she'd never been there before but there looked to be plenty of countryside and it wasn't too far away from London, should take her about an hour and a half to get there. It was also close to the sea if she wanted to spend a day on the beach.

Her last day in work was fairly quiet. She had wondered if she would see Sherlock as he had been spending a lot more time at Barts since John and Mary had had the baby but he was a no show. She sighed and mused at how she could still have such strong feelings for him after all these years and after all the bad things she had seen him do. Last year had been particularly fraught with his return from the dead, his lapse back into drug use, getting shot and a fake relationship. Then at Christmas he'd killed a man, been exiled and gotten high again as he left the country. Being his friend and colleague was like being strapped to roller coaster with no way of getting off. But love him she did even though it was unrequited; she'd still settle for his friendship any day over nothing.

Mike wished her a good time on her holiday and she made her way home feeling a fizz of excitement about the days ahead. She'd already done most of her packing and planned to set off first thing the following day so all she had to do was double check her lists and drop her spare keys off with the neighbour so they could pop in and feed Toby.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

The next morning Sherlock awoke to an empty flat and no case. He and John had wrapped up the Wainwright affair the night before and John had left Baker St mulling over what to call the case on his blog whilst reminding Sherlock that he wouldn't be around for the next few days.

Sherlock frowned. 'Why is that again? What else can you possibly have to do?'

John rolled his eyes. 'Funnily enough I have a life and it includes a wife and child who haven't seen me for two days and a job that I really ought to show my face at. They're very good at giving me flexibility to help with your cases but I do have to put in a few hours at least once in a blue moon.' His voice was laced with sarcasm but he knew it had probably gone straight over his best friend's head. 'I suggest you find a case yourself for once, or tidy up this place...it's a tip and it's not fair you leaving it all for Mrs Hudson to do. She'd not getting any younger you know.'

Sherlock waved his hand and made a 'pfft' noise. 'Don't be ridiculous John she's fine. What else would she do with her time?'

'Right, well I'll catch up with you in a few days, try not to kill anyone or get arrested in that time.'

Sherlock spent an hour or so looking through the emails he'd been sent and then later texting Lestrade to see if anything of interest had come in but there was nothing. He glanced at the clock to see it was just before lunch. Molly would be finished with her morning autopsy and in the lab writing it up. Perfect, she could keep him company...she might even have some tests he could help with.

He quickly showered and dressed and made his way to Barts only to find the lab empty. He checked her office but it was all locked up. Finally, he made his way down to the morgue anticipating that she had ended up having to carry on working down there but when he opened the door he was greeted by Mike who waved a blood-soaked, gloved hand at him.

'Hi Sherlock. What brings you here this fine afternoon?'

Sherlock scowled at his cheery welcome. 'Where's Molly? She's not in the lab.'

Mike smiled and turned his attention back to the body, dragging out the intestines to weigh them whilst trying not to let them slither to the floor.

'No well she's taken a holiday. Just a couple of days...so she can have a nice, long weekend. She'll be back on Tuesday.'

Sherlock huffed and spun on his heel contemplating what he should do. He turned back to Mike. 'Where has she gone and who with? She didn't mention anything to me about it.'

Mike laughed. 'Well why would she? It's not like you would have wanted to go with her. She was asking anyone and everyone last week but I think she decided to go on her own in the end.'

Sherlock could feel his frustration rising at this half answer. 'Yes, but WHERE has she gone?'

The older man shrugged. 'No idea. I just know she wanted to go camping. Something about it reminding her of her dad and holidays she had when she was younger.'

Sherlock didn't bother with either a thank you or a goodbye he just pushed his way out of the double-doors pausing only to retrieve his phone from his pocket. Well at least he could answer one question.

As he walked he called up the app which helped him keep track of his friends. Unbeknownst to all of them, Molly, John, Mrs Hudson and Greg, they all wore items or carried phones with a chip planted in them that allowed Sherlock to track their movements. He rarely used it and it was a security measure more than a stalking one. The only person who wasn't bugged was Mary. She'd found his 'addition' within 48 hours and had threatened to insert any future ones somewhere that seemed very unhygienic. He hadn't tried with her again. Her concession with John's bug had been that she also be given the ability to track him. Sherlock figured that what John didn't know, in this instance, wouldn't hurt him.

It took him less than ten minutes to locate her. She seemed to be on the coast line of Hampshire. He frowned, trying to decide what to do. The thought of spending the next four or five days without either her or John around suddenly seemed interminable. He had no case, no nothing and he knew how his brother would react if he found out. It would be classed as some sort of 'danger time' with his parents probably being roped in to keep him entertained.

It was that last thought that settled it, plus he hadn't been out of London since Christmas; maybe having a holiday would be a good thing.

As he stepped through the doors of Baker St he shouted for Mrs Hudson. She came out of her flat wiping her hands on a tea towel. 'Whatever is it Sherlock? Honestly, all this shouting...'

'I need a tent.'

'A what?'

'A tent, Mrs Hudson, a tent. Surely you heard me the first time or do you finally need that hearing aid?'

'Don't you be cheeky young man. Come on through whilst I get the keys for downstairs. I'm sure there was a tent left behind by the tenant before you. He was into all that outdoors stuff...I'm surprised at you though. I would have thought you would prefer your creature comforts.'

Sherlock took the opportunity to raid her fridge whilst she was looking for the keys. There was a slice of homemade pork pie and some cheese which he figured would constitute lunch. He was still munching on his stolen goods as he followed her down the steps into the untenanted flat below street level. He wasn't surprised no one wanted it given the damp and the lack of natural light.

They went past the room where Moriarty had left the trainers all those years ago and to an old bedroom which was piled high with all sorts of bits and bobs; broken furniture, bags of old clothes, a stripper pole. Sherlock gave the latter a wide berth.

'Here it is, I knew there was one down here. It smells a bit musty but I'm sure it will be fine.' Sherlock went over to help as Mrs Hudson struggled to extricate the old green canvas bag. He unzipped it and looked in briefly. There seemed to be a lot of poles, ropes and pegs but it all seemed in order.

He carried it up to his flat and threw it onto the settee whilst he went to pack some clothes. He figured his normal suits wouldn't be appropriate so had to dig around at the back of his wardrobe for his 'undercover' clothes; jeans, cargo pants, t shirts, he even found a pair of shorts which he threw in last minute; he needed to look the part after all.

He changed into the jeans, took a last look around before picking up the bag, collecting the tent and leaving the house. He had to admit as he flagged down a cab he was quite looking forward to having a break.

 **So Sherlock has gone off to join Molly on her trip. How do we think she'll react when that happens?**

 **Anyway as ever with a new fic, let me know what you think and what you'd like to see happen.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all your reviews and a special thank you to Ladycrafter for her camping stories, some of which had me howling with laughter and changing this chapter to incorporate them. Thank you so much xx**

 **Chapter 2**

It was just after seven pm and Molly was completely chilled. She had arrived just after mid-day, her tent had gone up like a dream and it had allowed her to spend the afternoon exploring the quiet campsite and the nearby village where she had been able to pick up some basic provisions. She'd gone for a camp site with a pub nearby rather than on-site entertainment. Her plan was to relax not have to listen to drunks and loud music into the early hours.

She was currently sitting outside her little tent in one of her recliner pop up chairs, meaning she was about two inches off the ground with her legs stretched out in front of her. Her little camp stove was lit and cooking a tin of stew and her first glass of red wine was going down very nicely indeed.

As it wasn't in any of the school holidays the site was fairly quiet and she had managed to set up her tent away from anyone else and with a nice view out over the hillside which dropped away to the sea below. She could hear the birds calling to each other and even crickets in the grass and she was so glad she had done this.

Ten minutes of peace later and there was a clatter of equipment off to her left. She huffed and peered around the edge of her tent to see that someone had emptied the contents of a tent bag onto the ground. She could see a pair of jeans and a gorgeously cute ass but whoever it was was bent over and rummaging through the pile, no doubt trying to figure out what went where.

She sighed in frustration. Cute ass or not why did they have to pick the pitch right next to hers? There was plenty of space. People were like lemmings sometimes or sheep having to stick together for comfort. The noise was setting Molly's teeth on edge but what could she do? She could hardly go and tell him to move.

She settled back in her chair determined to ignore him; concentrating instead on dishing up some of the stew and turning the heat down so the remainder kept warm.

Whoever it was seemed to be having no joy with their tent. There were plenty of humphs and sighs. Molly smirked to herself and evilly wondered if they might not give up and go home. Another sneaky look around the edge of her tent showed that their attempts to put up what appeared to be an ancient tent were futile. The side she could see looked very precarious and at risk of falling down any moment. It must have done a minute or two later because there was a crash followed by a sudden expletive and a frighteningly familiar voice let out a brief, 'for God's sake'.

Molly sat rigid in her chair, not even breathing. Her brain seemed to be in a loop _nononononono it can't be, it can't be._ She shook her head, she must have imagined it, maybe it was the wine, after all why in all that is holy would Sherlock be setting up a tent on the pitch next to hers.

She poured herself another glass of wine and had almost convinced herself that she'd been mistaken when the person in question walked into her sight line with a furious look on his face.

'It's no good Molly, that tent is defective; it must be. There is no way on this planet that it is possible to erect it.'

Molly just sat in shock taking in the sight of a disheveled Sherlock with grass stains on the knees of his jeans, mud on his cheek and tent pegs clutched in one hand.

'What...what...how...how are you even here?'

'That isn't important, what's important is I have nowhere to sleep tonight.' He huffed. 'I'll have to sleep in with you.'

He peered past her into her tent and nodded his head. 'Yes, looks like there's plenty of room for two in there. Do you at least have another of those chairs? I need to sit down, my back is killing me.'

She waved a hand towards her hire car, 'in the boot...it's open.'

He disappeared from view again and she sat up and rubbed her eyes. She was feeling very disorientated and desperately in need of some answers. Her previous calm seemed to have disappeared and she wasn't sure she'd ever get it back. She could hear Sherlock opening the boot and rummaging about but she still couldn't quite believe that he was actually here.

A moment later he reappeared carrying the said chair which he plonked down on the grass next to hers before settling his lanky frame into it and letting out a huge sigh.

'So go on.'

He glanced at her, 'go on what?'

'What on earth are you doing here and more to the point how did you even know how to find me? I didn't tell anyone where I was going.'

'I'm here because you're here, you don't think I'd come all this way for the good of my health do you? John was unavailable, there are no cases and I was at imminent risk of being mollycoddled by my interfering parents and brother. This seemed like the least worst option.'

Molly didn't know whether to take that as a compliment or not so chose to gloss over it. 'But how did you know where I was?'

Even Sherlock realised that telling Molly he'd planted a bug on her in order to be able to track her movements would be a bit not good so instead he tapped his nose. 'Trade secret. I'm not a Detective for nothing you know. I am actually quite good.'

Molly still had questions but she lapsed into a contemplative silence. She looked over at the heap of canvas and poles still piled up on his pitch and smirked to herself.

'So you were having trouble with your erection then?' She had to struggle to keep her face straight.

He frowned and nodded. 'Yes, I don't know why; it must be faulty or something. I think it's missing the central pole because I've never had a problem getting one up before.'

Molly couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter and he turned his head to look at her in momentary bewilderment at what was amusing her. It didn't last long and his lips flattened as he rolled his eyes. 'Yes, haha very funny Molly.' But he did give a reluctant smile.

She couldn't help but wind him up further. 'You could always hold the tent up yourself. You know, act as the central pole. I can help you finish it.'

He narrowed his eyes as he looked at her but she could see he was fighting a smile. 'Are you suggesting I spend the night holding my tent up.?'

'Well it would be one way to stay dry...looks like it might rain.' She peered up into the cloud free sky.

'Yes, well I think we'll be fine sharing your tent.' He picked up the spoon sitting in the pan and poked about at the stew. 'Is this left over?'

Molly rolled her eyes. 'Yes, I suppose it is, as I'm assuming you haven't even thought to bring food would you like it?' She started to reach for another bowl but he just picked up the pan and started eating direct from it with the spoon she'd used to stir it.

'Have you ever even been camping before?' Molly asked as she took another sip of her wine.

He gestured towards the wine. 'Mmm yes please, a glass would be nice.'

'Oh for fu...' She took a deep breath but then retrieved another plastic tumbler and poured him some out; glad that at least she had bought two bottles though that had been meant to last the whole weekend not just one or two nights.

He finished the stew and took the glass. 'And to answer your question Molly yes of course I've been camping. What English school boy hasn't been forced to attend scout camps? I have some hideous memories of 30 plus boys all soaked to the skin and trying to feed themselves with frozen mince and insufficient fires. And more recently I frequently spent nights out of doors though that tended to be sleeping rough rather than camping, I didn't have the luxury of a tent and an air bed.'

He drank some of his wine and stared out at the sea which seemed still as a millpond from this distance; the sun starting to set on the horizon was casting an orange glow over the water. Molly looked at him in curiosity trying to think when he would have had to sleep rough and why.

He seemed to feel the weight of her gaze and the questions she longed to ask because he continued. 'It was when I was "dead",' he air quoted with his fingers being careful not to spill any of the wine. 'I went overseas, travelled a lot, hunting down Moriarty's crew. At first it was all fairly straight-forward going from city to city with Mycroft's people arranging accommodation and information, the odd night sleeping rough but nothing major but then I had to drop off the grid completely; go undercover. It was...hard.'

Molly could sense the understatement in his words, he didn't seem to want her to know just how bad it had been which made her suspect all sorts of horrors.

He took a deep breath and seemed to regroup. 'Anyway, towards the end I had to get away. My cover had been blown and if I'd been captured I would have been tortured and killed so I fled. I lived rough for two weeks; constantly on the run trying to make it to the border so I could get to freedom.'

'What happened?' Molly couldn't seem to raise her voice above a whisper.

'Well, I didn't quite make it but Mycroft came to the rescue and brought me back to London. You know the rest.'

He leant over her and for a moment she could smell him; he smelt amazing, just as he always did. He hooked the wine bottle with his finger and thumb and held it out waiting for her to lift her glass so he could top them both up.

'What about you Molly? What made you come camping?'

She smiled. 'Oh go on, I know you want to, why don't you tell me?'

He caught her eye and smiled in return and Molly thought how honest and natural his smile was nowadays with her. She remembered back to those tight, fake smiles he'd used when she'd first met him and she wondered how she could ever have thought them real. His smiles now reached his eyes, lighting up his whole face making him more gorgeous than ever.

'It's almost the ten year anniversary of your father's death and whilst you haven't wanted to mark the occasion it has made you reminisce about your childhood. I deduce you went camping often with your parents. You didn't come from a wealthy background so camping would have been a cost effective holiday. You have happy memories of it and wanted to recreate that feeling. How did I do?'

Molly was staring at him, a little in shock. It didn't matter how many years she had known him it still amazed her how he could be so accurate about things with such little information to go on.

He tilted his head. 'Well?'

She broke out of her reverie and giggled a little. 'You did good. It was spot on. We never came here, to this place, it tended to be campsites around Kent and Leicester but we used to go two or three times a up year until I was about fourteen when we finally went on our first foreign holiday; a package holiday to Cyprus. What kind of holidays did you have?'

He shrugged. 'My father was in the diplomatic service so Mycroft and I would fly out to wherever our parents were for the holidays. If not that, we'd go and stay at our grandmother's estate in Surrey.'

'Oh...so were you at boarding school then in term time?'

'Yes.'

The way he said the word was tight and clipped. Molly wondered if she should press further but the whole situation seemed so surreal and out of their normal comfort zone anyway that she pressed on.

'You didn't like it there.' It was a statement more than a question and it had Sherlock looking at her appraisingly. 'No, no I didn't. No one ever saw that or if they did they weren't bothered enough to ask. I hated it, it was run like a military establishment, get up at this time, make your bed, go to class, do your work, clean the dorms, run around doing jobs for the seniors. They didn't care if you were happy, sad or indifferent. I should never have put up with it as long as I did...but I was young, trying to please my parents, my grandparents, Mycroft.'

Molly stayed silent not wanting to disturb his reminiscences, she worried that he might suddenly clam up if he realised how much he was telling her. She found the insight into his childhood fascinating and she ached for the small boy, away from his home and his parents.

 **So Sherlock's arrived and surprise, surprise he has to sleep in Molly's tent. What a shame ;).**

 **You know I'm needy so send me your love by way of a review or a follow or a favourite and I'll be back soon with the next update.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey guys I've just finished work and have a whole week off and I'm in a really good mood; looking forward to lots of relaxing and lots of writing ;). Thank you all so much for your support with this fic, it really does mean a lot and it gives me the motivation to keep going.**

 **Chapter 3**

Sherlock drained his wine before opening the second bottle and pouring out another glass and Molly wondered if it was the alcohol that was making him so verbose.

'It changed when I hit my teens though; they tried but they couldn't keep me in the place. I was already drinking at weekends as well as smoking cigarettes and cannabis; it wasn't a huge step to move onto harder drugs and by the time I was sixteen and at university my ways were quite dissolute. Mycroft tried to keep me in check, of course. He was always the good one doing everything mummy and daddy asked of him.' His words were laced with resentment and anger and Molly wondered, not for the first time, what Sherlock would have been like in his teens.

She'd been the complete opposite to him. She had gone to university at eighteen and had kept out of trouble, worked hard, made the most of the opportunity offered to her, knowing how much her parents were sacrificing financially to give her that chance. She'd avoided too many nights out, though she'd had her fair share and been drunk a few times but she'd tried not to get too distracted by boyfriends. If she'd met Sherlock at that age would she have seen the genius or the junkie? Would she have been as attracted to him then as she still was to this day?

She had hoped that her feelings for him would mellow over time, morph into just platonic emotions but, god help her, they never had. If anything they became worse with every passing year and now he was proposing they sleep in the same tent together. She looked at her almost empty glass and made a mental note not to have any more to drink. The last thing she needed was to get too drunk and embarrass herself by coming on to him or worse.

The sun had long since disappeared over the horizon now and the camp site was getting dark. Molly turned and switched on the little travel lamp that she'd brought with her; it hung from the flap of the tent and was powered by batteries. It cast a gentle glow around them and Molly tried not to stare at the way it highlighted his sharp cheekbones and the hollows of shade beneath them.

The conversation moved onto work and a couple of Sherlock's recent cases and kept them occupied for another hour until Molly started to yawn. 'I think I'm going to turn in, I can't keep my eyes open.'

She stretched and then smiled at Sherlock before standing and bending to enter the tent to find her night clothes and wash bag. 'I'll be back in a minute.'

He nodded and turned his eyes back to the sea which was partially lit by a crescent moon.

Molly padded her way over to the shower block which wasn't too far away. She changed in one of the shower cubicles and then washed her face and brushed her teeth before looking at her reflection in the mirror. She chuckled to herself at the bizarre turn her holiday had taken. Of all the people she had thought might have come camping with her she had never once considered Sherlock. And yet, now he was here she was really enjoying herself. He seemed to be letting his barriers down a little and showing her more of the friend and less of the colleague. Her only qualm was the sleeping arrangement. She had seen the size of that air bed and whilst it was sold as being a double it most certainly wasn't.

She made her way back to see Sherlock now wearing his Belstaff round his shoulders for warmth but still sitting outside the tent. She suddenly felt a little awkward. 'Well...night then.'

He looked up as though he'd forgotten he was with someone. It made her wonder what he was thinking about.

'Yes, good night Molly. I won't be too long.'

She made her way into the tent and let down the flap but didn't zip it up. The inside was quite small with her belongings on one side and the air bed on the other. There was just enough head height for her to stand upright in the centre but nowhere else and she knew Sherlock wouldn't be able to stand.

She hadn't brought sleeping bags with her, she'd thought about it in the shop but she hated how they restricted her legs; making her feel claustrophobic. Plus she knew she'd be bringing everything down in a car so it wasn't as though she had to physically carry her bedding. So instead she'd brought a thin quilt to act as a sheet and make the air bed a bit comfier and her normal quilt as a cover. She hoped they'd be warm enough but it was still early enough in the year that the night time temperatures dropped quite considerably.

As she was starting to drift off she heard Sherlock moving around, picking up his bag and then his footsteps moving off into the distance. The knowledge that he would soon be in the bed with her seemed to wake her up again and she lay in the dark waiting for his return.

It wasn't long before the flap rustled and she heard him deposit his bag on the groundsheet before crawling in and zipping up the entrance; swearing quietly when he kept bumping his head on the roof of the tent . She felt as though she were holding her breath and as he climbed into the bed next to her she shuffled right over to the very edge to give him room and so they weren't touching.

The minutes ticked by with neither of them saying anything or moving much. Molly was so precariously perched there was no way she was going to fall asleep but given the size of the bed she had nowhere to go; she absolutely didn't want to invade his space.

Eventually he gave a huff of annoyance. 'Molly, we're both adults. I think we can sleep more comfortably than this given the space...don't you?'

She turned a little to face him starting to protest her ignorance but he just looped his arm around her waist and pulled her closer to him. She wasn't quite in his arms but she could feel his body heat and their legs were touching. 'There...that's better, we should be able to sleep now. Good night Molly.'

Molly felt a little sheepish at having been so prudish, 'night Sherlock.'

It wasn't long before his breathing evened out and she knew he was sleeping which gave her the ability to relax and fall asleep in her turn.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

When Sherlock awoke the following morning the sun was streaming in through the sides of the tent and he and Molly were completely wrapped up in each other. He vaguely remembered waking in the night, feeling extremely cold, and pulling Molly closer so they could share body heat. It had definitely worked but what he hadn't expected was the side effect of waking up with Molly in his arms and how that made him feel.

In all his previous encounters with women he hadn't been able to get away fast enough. The thought of waking up with them in the morning had been an anathema. Even with Janine he made sure he was first up and had never had any desire to linger in her company. Plus he had spent most of their time together making up excuses as to why they wouldn't and shouldn't have sex and she had been just as persistent in trying to seduce him so he definitely hadn't wanted to remain in bed with her even though she had repeatedly insisted on sleeping over.

This felt different though. He had awoken to find he was spooning Molly's much smaller frame, with his chest touching the length of her back, his arm around her waist holding her to him. His chin was resting on the top of her head and it just felt...right. He had no inclination to move or break contact with her even though he knew he should. He knew how she felt about him, how she still felt about him and he didn't want to lead her on in any way.

A small voice in his head asked a quick _why not?_ and he found himself frowning and scratching around for a valid reason. His knee jerk response of _because I don't do relationships_ sounded hollow and lonely in a way it never had before. For the first time he found himself acknowledging that his work was no longer the be all and end all to him. Somehow friendship and affection had crept its way into his life and he didn't want to eradicate it...but did he want to take it further? That he couldn't quite answer to his satisfaction.

Molly stirred and he held his breath wondering if she was about to waken but after a small stretch which had her pressing back against him she fell back into her slumber.

Sherlock found he had his eyes squeezed shut and was biting his lip. That one small movement had set off shockwaves in his body all culminating in his groin and he was painfully aware that he was now hardening and at risk of wanting more. It was that along with his uncertainty that had him moving away from Molly before sitting up and rubbing his hands across his face and through his hair.

As he pushed off the air bed and crouched down to find his wash bag and clothes Molly rolled over and yawned. He glanced back round and found himself smiling at her sleepy and disgruntled expression.

She was the first to speak. 'Hey...morning, what time is it?'

He glanced at his phone. 'Just after half seven. I'm going to have a shower. Go back to sleep if you want.' With that he stood and exited the tent, having to carry his clothes and bag low over his still evident arousal. Looked like he was going to have to suffer a cold shower.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly lay for a moment in the empty tent listening to the sounds of the other campers also starting to awake; chit chat and the clinking of coffee cups seemed to be the main noise along with the sound of birds calling to each other in the background.

She sat up and looked at the tent door which Sherlock had just exited through. She had never spent the night with him before and she still felt like she needed to pinch herself to prove it were real. He'd fallen asleep first and she had lain for a little while looking at his profile in the dark and listening to his breathing hardly able to believe that he were really there. She had wanted so badly to reach out to him, to touch him and maybe try to kiss him but she had stopped herself. She had already more than humiliated herself as far as her feelings for Sherlock Holmes went without adding to the list. She needed to try to find a way of getting over him, of accepting that it would never be more than friendship but even she acknowledged that that wasn't likely to happen when he was sleeping in the same bed as her.

She needed a shower herself but she thought she might as well wait for Sherlock to get back, that way she wouldn't have to lock up her money and phone in the car, so instead she set about putting some water onto boil so that they could have some coffee. She was also looking forward to making sausage and eggs on her little camp stove. From memory they had always tasted better when cooked outdoors. She'd picked up some freshly laid free range eggs and some locally sourced sausages from the village shop and she reckoned she had just enough for Sherlock as well. Her stomach growled at the thought but she wasn't sure if her mouth was watering at the thought of breakfast or Sherlock.

 **I know, I know that last line was corny but I couldn't resist it. I love cooking and eating outdoors. It really does always taste so much nicer. Maybe I need to resurrect my own tent though I suspect it will be a bit moth-riddled.**

 **But enough of me, what do you guys think?**


	4. Chapter 4

**I see we're getting some lovely pics of both Ben and Loo coming out of Hay on Wye this year. Makes me wish I was camping there and seeing the shows. I went to Hay last year (outside of the festival0 and it's a beautiful village just cram packed with book shops. I was in heaven and would love to go back some day. Maybe I should have had them camping there rather than Hampshire...ah well...hindsight and all that.**

 **Talking of locations I should say that the villages mentioned in my fic do exists but the pubs and museums etc do not, they are a figment of my fevered imagination.**

 **Chapter 4**

As she got to work with boiling the water for coffee she caught a glimpse, out of the corner of her eye, of him walking back. She looked up a smile already on her face only for it to freeze momentarily when she fully looked him up and down. He was wearing shorts and a t shirt with flip flops and his hair was all damp curls with his towel flung over one shoulder. She didn't think she had ever seen him look so relaxed or so gorgeous. In that moment she longed to run her hands through his hair and kiss him until she was dizzy. It hit her like a thump to her stomach and she had to gasp to catch her breath, looking away to distract herself. It had been months since she had had such a visceral reaction to him. The last time had been when she had seen his reflection in the mirror when he'd returned from the dead.

She heard as he settled himself into the chair next to hers and she wordlessly passed him his cup of coffee as she tried to compose herself, knowing he had probably seen her reaction and already deduced the cause. It just made her discomfort even worse.

Thankfully he seemed to choose to ignore it as he asked what her plans for the day were.

'Well, I was just going to go into the New Forest for a walk.'

'Pah, walking! Walking is boring. What else can we do?'

Molly frowned at his quick dismissal of her idea. 'I don't know, why don't you come up with something,' she muttered stroppily as she sipped on her coffee, cursing when she realised it was too hot.

'Fine I will.' He picked up his phone and started to tap into it. Molly tried to catch a glimpse of the screen but he caught her looking and turned it away from her. 'Uh uh no peeking. Why don't you go and shower whilst I carry on my search and cook us some breakfast.' He glanced at the open cool box. 'Sausage and eggs, right?'

'Oh...um..yes please. You know how to cook then?'

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. 'Boy Scout remember. Not to mention the scavenging in the woods bit.' He glanced around the camp site. 'I can always catch and skin you a rabbit if you'd prefer that.'

Molly frowned. 'No, that's just mean.'

He just laughed at her disgruntled expression so she threw away the dregs of her coffee and found her clothes and wash bag.

True to his word by the time she returned there was a delicious smell of sausage and eggs and Molly found her mouth watering as she knelt down on the floor next to him. 'Mmm that smells lovely, is it ready yet?'

He leant forward to push the sausages with a fork and Molly found herself mere inches from his face. She had to avert her eyes so she didn't end up staring at him but she couldn't help feeling extraordinarily conscious of how close he was.

'Looks fine, do you want to pass the plates?'

She held them out whilst he stabbed the sausages and shook them onto the plates. Then he used the small spatula to scoop out the eggs. They were all cooked perfectly with the yolk of Molly's egg oozing out over her plate when she broke it. The taste took her straight back to her child hood and she couldn't help but let out a moan at the taste of the sausage and hold combined. She missed the glance that Sherlock gave her and the way he seemed to swallow uncomfortably.

'So, what have you found for us to do?'

She could have laughed at his eager expression. His whole face lit up as he tried to finish chewing his food before talking. 'A murder!'

Molly's face fell. 'What? No, surely we can leave all that behind for one weekend. I'm not doing any autopsies for you.'

He shook his head. 'Not a recent one. A cold case...from 1894. A young girl was found strangled just outside Lymington on the riverside. I found out some of the details on line but I thought we could make a day of it, visit where she lived and worked, where she died...and there's a museum with some information about the crime. We'll see more of the area than we would on a walk, plus she worked in a pub which is still around so we could have lunch there later.'

He looked at her almost pleadingly and she found she just couldn't say no to him and she had to admit it did sound much more interesting than her suggestion.

They made quick work of the washing up and then they piled into the car with Sherlock programming the address into the sat nav to take them to their first port of call; the small, local museum. As Molly drove Sherlock gave her the bare bones of the case that he'd been able to pick up from the Internet.

'Her name was Bessie Smith and she was 23 when she died. She lived on a local dairy farm with her father and siblings. Her mother died when she was still young and she'd assisted her older brothers and sister in bringing up the two younger siblings. She helped out on the farm but also had a small job cleaning and serving in the village pub. It was after one of her shifts that she went missing, in the autumn of 1894, and she was found dead about two miles away a day later. It was widely thought her ex-fiancé killed her but he had a water tight alibi and no one was ever charged. That's about all I can find.'

It took them about thirty minutes to drive to Lymington and Molly loved the journey. The New Forest was a very scenic area with winding roads through wooded areas and shrub land, the sea appearing and disappearing as they meandered their way towards the small town.

About half way there Sherlock fiddled around with the radio until he'd found a channel playing classical and jazz. Molly had to concentrate hard on the road and try not to be distracted by his long, slim fingers playing with the knobs and dials. It wasn't a channel she'd ever really listened to before but she found she quite liked it, the music was very relaxing and she saw Sherlock close his eyes and presumably go into his fabled mind palace.

By the time they reached the museum, set in an old converted church, the sun was breaking through the remaining clouds and it looked like it was going to be another sunny day. Molly was glad she'd gone with a light summer dress and flat sandals. Sherlock had swapped his flip flops for canvas boat shoes and Molly still couldn't get over how different he looked. It made him seem so much younger and less forbidding than normal.

It was just after 10.00 and the museum had only just opened and there didn't seem to be anyone else around other than the octogenarian who seemed to be manning the desk. She welcomed them in; charging them the princely sum of £3.50 each.

'Are you here on holiday then dears?'

Sherlock was already glancing through the little paper guide that he'd picked up from the desk so it was left to Molly to respond.

'Yes, we came down yesterday. We're camping just outside Milton-on-Sea.'

The old woman smiled. 'Oh I used to love camping with my husband when we were younger. It was such good fun. It's been years though since I last went and I'm far too old now. We used to take our two boys when they were little and they loved running around...the freedom of it all.'

Molly agreed, talking about her own memories as a child.

'Well, you'll be able to form your own memories if you and your husband have your own children.'

Molly blushed and was about to deny her relationship with Sherlock when he suddenly interrupted.

'There's no mention in this leaflet of the display on Bessie Smith. Do you still have one here?'

'Oh...I...er. Bessie Smith you say, bless her she was the poor girl murdered wasn't she? Not many people interested in that but yes there is a small display in the second room on your left.'

'Thanks, come on Molly,' Sherlock caught hold of Molly's hand and towed her towards the room that had been pointed out. As they entered Molly came level with Sherlock and looked down at where their hands were still linked. His hand seemed to engulf her own and seeing it sent a strange tingle down her spine.

She held his hand up still grasping hers. 'Care to explain this?'

Sherlock looked from the display case to their hands as though he hadn't noticed. 'What? Oh, she seemed to think we were together and disabusing her would have wasted time. I didn't think you'd mind?' He smirked and then let go of Molly's hand and she felt the loss of it immediately.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock was surprised by how comfortable and natural it had felt to link his hand with Molly's. He too hadn't been unaware of the physical connection and the way it had made him feel. This holiday with Molly was confusing his feelings in a way he hadn't experienced before but he couldn't bring himself to end it. He was...yes, he was enjoying himself and it felt as though it had been a long time since he'd just plain enjoyed himself.

He glanced through the documents and items on display and wished he could get his hands on them. There were snippets of old newspaper articles, complete with lurid headlines, from the time of the crime and following some of the futile investigation. There was the blue and white dress that she'd been wearing the day she was killed and even a couple of photos of her. She had dark hair and dark eyes and was smiling happily with her siblings in one and then another more formally posed with the fiancé that she'd broken up with.

The most interesting artefact was the notebook of the local police officer and Sherlock huffed in frustration, desperate to get his hands in it. He was just checking out the cabinets locking mechanism when he heard Molly coming back into the room chatting. He frowned not remembering hearing her leave.

'My husband is so interested in local crime stories. He works with Scotland Yard sometimes and if you felt you needed to you could contact them and I'm sure they'd be happy to vouch for him.'

'Well, it's very unorthodox as you know. But...well, I can't see much harm in it. It's not a popular display but please be careful.'

Sherlock spun around to see the woman from the front desk shuffling forwards whilst looking through a huge key ring. He glanced at Molly and tilted his head questioningly.

Molly smiled. 'Well, I figured you'd want to get a better look at some of the items.'

He wondered once more at her ability to read him, how she always seemed to know him so well. No one, not even John, seemed to care about him so much. He felt a warm feeling spread through him and he couldn't help but return her smile. As he stepped away from the cabinet to give the old woman some room he bent his head and pressed his lips to Molly's. It lasted no more than a couple of seconds but it was like no kiss that Sherlock had ever shared before. It was all he could do to stay in character as he pulled away. 'Thank you Molly, I couldn't ask for a better wife.'

 **So, a little bit of role playing to liven things up. What do you think of Sherlock's idea for their day out? It did befuddle me for a while but honestly...what else would HE come up with?**

 **Anyway, I'll be back soon with another update.**


	5. Chapter 5

**So as I think I've said I'm on holiday this week which means I have a bit more time for writing and editing so I thought I'd post a little more this week. And today has been extra good as I've been treated to homemade chocolate chip cookies curtesy of my oldest son. Yummy.**

 **Chapter 5**

It was a good job that Sherlock was engrossed in looking through the items about the dead girl because Molly felt almost faint after that kiss.

She had just about managed to thank the older woman for her generosity and tell her she'd let her know when they were finished and then she'd sat down on one of the little plastic chairs to catch her breath.

Sherlock had methodically gone through the items in the cabinet and then he had gently removed an old black notebook before sitting at a low desk and chair which was there for children to colour in pictures of some of the Roman coins on display. He was slowly leafing through the pages occasionally photographing one here and there.

She had to resist the urge to put her hand to her lips, knowing he'd see if she did and deduce what she was thinking about. But what else could she be thinking about! He had just kissed her. This had been no kiss on the cheek like normal but a kiss on the lips and in a couple of short seconds it had made her heart rate spike, her breathing quicken and she had felt dizzy and disorientated. No kiss had ever affected her so badly. But then no man had ever made her feel like Sherlock did.

She knew in her heart of hearts that he had just been playing the role of grateful husband to perfection but it didn't stop her traitorous body from wanting more. His lips had felt so soft and warm. It was as though she could still feel them there. She let her tongue pass over them hoping to taste him but she couldn't.

 _Pull yourself together Hooper...he's going to notice you sitting here gawping at him like a schoolgirl with a crush._

She took a deep breath and fixed a smile on her face before picking her chair up and bringing it closer to him. 'Hey, so how's it going? Any clues yet?'

Sherlock tilted the book so she could see it. 'Some interesting bits in here. It's the notes from the local Bobby. For a man of that time, barely educated, he was obviously methodical and bright. He had suspicions against two or three men in the area.'

'What about the fiancé? Does he give any more info on the alibi?'

'Yes, he was apparently visiting his aged aunt and uncle in a nearby village. They had no children and he would go over once a month for two or three days to do odd jobs for them. He had no transport so would have been travelling on foot. We can check the distances but he was seen in the local pub there at just after midnight and by the local baker's boy at six. That's aside from his aunt and uncle vouching that he was in the house all night. It does seem rock solid.'

He sat up and stretched his shoulders. The chair was ridiculously small for him and it made Molly chuckle.

He narrowed his eyes. 'Yes, very funny. How come I ended up on the minuscule chair and you get the normal one, that isn't right?'

'You got too engrossed in your case that's how. Have you seen everything you want to here?'

He nodded his head.

'Where to next then husband?' She bit her lip and smiled enjoying using that sobriquet for him even if it was just a joke.

She was relieved to see the flicker of a smile as he answered. 'The farm she lived at, we can walk from there to the pub she worked at. I'd like to see the route she would have taken. Come on wife.' He winked and stood, holding out his hand to pull her up from the chair.

Once again he surprised her by holding on to her hand as he led her back through to the entrance. They thanked the old lady profusely and then made their way back out into the sunshine where he finally let go of his hold on her. There were another two cars in the car park now but it was still fairly quiet.

He held his hand out for the car keys and Molly looked confused. 'You're not insured are you?'

'I had Mycroft add me to your insurance. You're too slow when you drive.'

'Um, I think you'll find it's called sticking to the speed limits.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes but left his hand out waiting. Molly huffed but passed him the keys.

He threw his phone over to her as he climbed into the seat. 'Put the next address into the sat nav, it's in my notes app.'

Molly duly did as he asked and was about to pass the phone back when she frowned. 'What's this?'

Sherlock glanced at her briefly as he started to guide the car out of the car park. 'What's what?'

'This "find my friend" app.'

'No, don't go into...'

'Sherlock Holmes, have you got a tracking device on me!?'

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath; this might not end well for him. 'Well...listen, I'll be honest. You know my line of work; you know how dangerous it can be. I mean look at last time with Moriarty. He threatened John, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson...I just want to be able to keep track of my friends should the worst ever happen.'

Molly was silent for a moment thinking through what he had said. She ought to feel bothered that he was keeping track of her...but it wasn't as though he were stalking her. He had the app to try to keep her safe, not just find her if he ever needed to...she paused as the reality sank in. 'Oh, that's how you knew where I was this weekend!'

His silence was her answer.

A few moments later he risked a quick glance at her, still concentrating on his driving as he asked, 'does it bother you?'

'I'm not sure. Yes and no. Yes because tracking someone is just wrong, an invasion of their privacy. But no because you've done it to try to keep us safe. I don't know...I'm flattered in a way that you care enough to include me with your other friends.

This made his forehead crease and he snatched another look at her. 'Of course I care Molly. I've always told you that I care, that you are the most important person to me. Why do you still not believe that?'

'I...I don't know. You just don't show it I suppose.'

She looked over and saw him scowling at the road ahead, wordlessly following the instructions of the sat nav. Finally they pulled up next to an old tumble down barn and Sherlock turned off the engine and twisted in his seat to face her.

'I'm sorry, again, if I've ever made you feel less than my friend. I trust you Molly...implicitly, and there are not many I would say that to. I...I love you Molly as a friend and...'

She smiled and put her hand on his arm stopping him mid flow. 'I love you too Sherlock. I'm sorry I doubted our friendship...but you need to tell the others about the tracking device; it's only right!' She added as he scowled. 'Come on...haven't we got a murder to solve?'

She climbed out of the car leaving Sherlock feeling a little dissatisfied. He had wanted to say more, to tell her that maybe his feelings were starting to become more than friendship but she'd cut him off and he hadn't found the right words. Slowly he extracted himself from the car and joined her where she was leaning on an old broken down fence looking at the sign that told them the area had been sold for redevelopment.

'Is this where she lived then?' She gestured towards the old farm house with its broken windows and weeds growing out of the roof tiles and gutters.

'Yes. The farm went into disrepair in the late sixties and hasn't been occupied since. The last of the family moved out around that time and I couldn't trace any relatives still living, that's not to say there aren't any though.'

Molly felt a little melancholic and sad as she looked at the farm imagining Bessie and her brothers and sisters feeding chickens and leading in the cows to be milked. All that hope and life and activity and now nothing just empty, ramshackle buildings and untended fields.

Sherlock spun around on his heel and pointed down the single track road away from the direction they'd arrived in. 'The pub she worked at is about a mile away and still open...so, do you fancy some lunch Molly Hooper?'

Molly grinned. 'You mean more than the bag of crisps that you normally bring me?'

He chuckled and held out his arm for her to loop hers through as they started to walk. 'I suppose so. You're as bad as John. He's always nagging me for food when we're away on cases; it's like it's the only thing on his mind...well not the only thing. He's normally stressing about when he can get back to Mary as well.'

Molly laughed at this insight into John and Sherlock's interactions. Sherlock sounded almost baffled by basic bodily needs and not for the first time she wondered how someone she considered a genius could be so blind and naive to human wants and desires.

It was a lovely walk past open fields and the odd house. They stopped for a moment at the wrought iron gates which signified the entrance to the local Manor House and Sherlock once again accessed the Internet to find out information. 'Hmm looks like this is 'Milton House' and was home to the Milton family who were the local bigwigs...can't find out much more than that though. Maybe we can pick up some info at the pub. It's not far now.'

Gradually the houses became more frequent and they found themselves walking down what could barely be called a high street but was obviously the heart of the little village. Many of the houses had thatched roofs and all were bursting with colour as flowers spilled over stone walls and filled the little gardens.

The centre consisted of a 15th century church and grave yard, a tiny village store and the pub which looked to be almost as old as the church.

Molly nudged Sherlock. 'Do you think she's buried in the church yard?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Does it matter?'

'Yes it matters. I want to see if we can find her grave. I feel sorry for her...she died so young, hardly any life at all. Come on.'

She heard him groan but he followed her through the wooden gate and up the narrow path then they separated as they wandered through the rows of gravestones trying to find if she were there.

It took about ten minutes with lots of Smiths and Miltons found before Sherlock gave a shout and waved Molly over to a small overgrown grave underneath an old yew tree. Molly hurried over and stood by Sherlock as she read out the stone. He'd had to push down the grass at the base so it could all be seen.

'Elizabeth "Bessie" Smith 1871 - 1894

beloved daughter of Wilber and Elsie Smith.'

'This lovely bud, so young, so fair,

Called hence by early doom,

Just came to show how sweet a flower

In Paradise would bloom.'

Molly sniffed a little; feeling the weight of the young girl's death. Without realising what she was doing she leant against Sherlock, who was standing at her side, for comfort and it was only when he put his arm around her shoulder that she realised what she had done.

A moment later he let his arm fall away and together they walked out of the church yard and towards the pub, both dwelling on their own thoughts; Molly's on the young victim and Sherlock's on Molly.

 **Are we liking the way Sherlock's viewpoint is starting to change? I like to try to keep him as real as possible but I'm interested in your view as to whether I'm managing it here. I don't want him to become to OOC.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Nooo, why do holidays always seem to slip by so fast. It feels like I'm running out of week to quickly. Someone slow it down for me.**

 **Chapter 6**

The inside of the pub was dark after the brightness of the summer day and Sherlock had to duck his head to avoid banging it on the low lintel of the ancient door way.

There were a few people either drinking or eating in the bar area and a door was open to the beer garden beyond.

'Afternoon squire, what can I get you?'

Sherlock glanced at the pumps and ordered up a glass of wine for Molly and pint of "Dark Delight" from the list of local ales.

Molly perched on a stool whilst the drinks were being poured and eventually settled on a Brie and Cranberry sandwich with a side portion of chips. She got the latter because Sherlock declined any food but she knew if she got the chips he'd pick at them subconsciously.

After the food had been ordered Sherlock made some enquiries about the village and asked the barman how long he'd lived in the local area.

'Oh, I'm a newcomer as far as folk round here are concerned. I took up the pub...ooo..twenty eight years ago now. There were a lot more regulars in the village then; now it mainly holiday folk like yourselves. But if it's history you're after then you're in luck. Billy Smith at the end o' the bar there has lived here man and boy. He's getting on for eighty now but he'll answer your questions for the price of a pint...ain't that right Billy?'

The wiry old man looked up from his paper and frowned at the barman. 'What's that? What you sayin' about me?'

'I told this couple here that you know the history of this place. You mind talking to them?'

'Naw I dunt mind at all. It'll pass the time.'

Sherlock picked up his pint, 'drink?'

The old man smiled, wrinkles on wrinkles creasing up his leathery face. 'Don't mind if I do. Same again Jim. So what do you want to know?'

Sherlock and Molly moved to sit next to him on the stools situated around the edge of the bar and when Sherlock recounted their interest in Bessie's murder the old man's face lit up.

'Oh now Bessie would have been my great aunt 'ad she lived. My gran was her sister. She was never forgot you know. Nan used to talk about her right up til the end.'

'And who did your grandmother think killed her?'

'Well, many thought as it was Ben Hawkins who'd been sweet on her. Nan said he was ever so cut up when she broke up with him. He figured there was someone else in the picture but apparently Bessie denied it. My gran reckoned he was right though and it was this other fella what killed her. She always said Bessie was with child but it was never proved if she was or not. Wont no autopsies carried out in them days.'

'So who was the other man?'

'That's the question ain't it. Bessie never said and gran never knew. She couldn't understand why Bessie wouldn't at least have told her family especially if she wor pregnant. It would have been a scandal maybe but the lad would have bin made to do right by her. That was just ow it wor back then.'

Sherlock asked Billy a few more questions but there wasn't a lot more he could tell them about Bessie. He gave them some of the history of the Milton's who had owned the lodge house but the last heir had been killed in the Great War and the house had been sold soon after his father's death.

When the food was brought out Molly and Sherlock's moved themselves into the beer garden so they could enjoy the sun shine and talk in peace. Molly smiled to herself as she saw Sherlock absent mindedly eating the chips as he talked about their afternoon adventures.

'Just two more places to visit. I want to check the distance between here and the village where her ex was staying and then the place where her body was found.'

'Do you think you'll be able to solve it?'

Sherlock snorted in disbelief. 'Molly, I solved it in the museum. Surely you know what happened.'

'Oh...no, at least...it was probably her new boyfriend but we have no idea who that is.'

He chuckled. 'You see but you do not observe. There's only one man it could have been. I thought it was obvious. Who else would deny it...kill her for the pregnancy and get away with it? Well, I'll give you a little more time to figure it out. Are you not finished with your food yet?'

'No, I'm not and don't rush me. I'm enjoying my wine and the food is delicious. You should have had something.'

He rolled his eyes but went to order another half pint whilst he was waiting for her.

The walk back to the car was as pleasant as the walk to the village. Once again Molly was arm in arm with Sherlock and she loved how easy it all felt, she wished it could be like this all the time, this feeling of companionship and closeness. In London she often just felt like a useful tool in his life rather than a friend and given their conversation earlier she challenged him on it.

'I'll be honest Molly. When I first met you that is all that you were, a tool, an asset. In fairness that's all most people were to me. I never really took the time to see the person beyond their usefulness to me. I'd learnt to keep people at arm's length because so few people ever seemed to understand me and relate to me; or I to them.'

'It was living with John that made me see how valuable friendship was and I'm glad because now my life is richer and the more enjoyable for it. After all who would have thought we'd be on holiday together and enjoying each other's company in this way two or three years ago.'

Just as he had that morning he found himself wanting to say more, to tell her how he really felt, but he was way out of his depth and worried that he would say the wrong thing. Maybe he was destined to be alone, he was mad thinking that he should have a relationship. It was just the sun, the hot weather, spending time with Molly on her own. But God she looked perfect in that sundress. Something which suited her small frame for once. Her shoulders were bare and he found his mouth almost watering at the thought of tasting her skin, letting his tongue slide over her collarbone and kiss his way up her slim neck.

His thoughts were interrupted when Molly pointed to the car and started to extract her arm from his. 'Do you want to drive or shall I?'

He thought maybe if he drove it would keep his mind off Molly's body but he was wrong. His eye kept getting snagged by her bare legs. She kicked off her shoes in the car and he imagined kissing his way up from her ankle to her...God what was wrong with him!

His confused emotions made him snappy and grumpy and he found himself berating Molly for taking to long tapping in the address to the sat nav.

'OK, OK keep your hair on, what's got you so grumpy all of a sudden?'

He wanted to snap that it was her incompetence but he found he couldn't do it. For one it would be grossly unfair and second he didn't want to see the hurt look in her eyes. Instead he took a deep breath and made some comment about the heat.

Their expedition to the village where the aunt and uncle had stayed proved to Sherlock that herThe ex-boyfriend was indeed innocent just as he had expected. Even if he had run the whole way it would have been too much, especially given that the body had been found almost a mile in the opposite direction from the village.

And it was there, where she had been found, that they finally ended up. The killer had obviously thrown her in the river hoping that her body would be washed out to sea but her skirts had caught on tree roots at the side of the riverbank and some children had come across her a day or so later.

Sherlock noticed how quiet Molly was as they sat on the bank of the river and looked out at the peaceful countryside. It seemed a complete juxtaposition to the death that had been found here. Sherlock felt the same comparison in Molly and in his own life. Here she was so happy and optimistic and yet her life was mired in such darkness and death. He wondered how she managed to always rise above it and not drown in its murky depths. Even now, he knew she was sad for a girl who had died so long ago when all he had felt was curiosity at the puzzle it gave him to solve.

As he looked over the water he felt Molly's gaze on him. It was something he was quite used to and something he was fond of. He hoped she never wanted to stop seeing him.

He glanced at her in return and saw her lips curve up into a smile which made him want to smile in return, how did she always do that. He remembered all their shared looks and smiles as she had helped him solve crimes that day soon after his return and how irritated he had felt that she couldn't spend time with him more often. She had been with that idiot Tom then and he had backed off, hoping in some ways that this man was someone who deserved his Molly. He hadn't been; he'd been an idiot.

'Go on then smart arse, tell me who did it.'

He leant back on his elbows in the grass and saw Molly lie on her side next to him as she listened.

'It was Charles Milton Jnr son of Lord Milton of Milton House. Billy was probably right in that Bessie was pregnant but it was Charles's child and not her fiancés so she broke it off with him. If it had belonged to someone poorer or less able to look after her she would have stuck with Ben and made him think it was his. She probably told Charles that night. He was a regular at the pub and his house was in the same direction as Bessie's. He could have waited, walked her home. It's probably how the affair started. Anyway, that night she probably told him about the baby and he lost it. His father would have been furious at getting a local girl knocked up. He was known for having a temper. The local policeman knew that and wanted to interview him but Lord Milton wouldn't allow it. The police didn't hold as much sway back then particularly in a small community like this...the local nobility could deny their requests.

'I suspect that Charles Jnr told his father and he arranged for his son to join the army as an officer soon after. They also paid for Bessie's gravestone, something her family would never have been able to afford, not with that level of engraving on it. So there we are...no proof as such but I'm satisfied in my own mind.'

Molly shook her head. 'You always, always amaze me Sherlock.'

He turned his head to hers, seeing her eyes wide with love for him and found himself leaning in to kiss her.

 **Not sure this classes as a cliff hanger but I'll go with it. Is it time for a kiss or not?**


	7. Chapter 7

**I have to say a thank you in this chapter and those that follow to MayBeItsJustMyType who pointed out that following those stubbly Setlock pics (be still my beating heart) that maybe given they're camping we could have a stubbly Sherlock here as well. MayBe your wish is also my wish and so it is done.**

 **Chapter 7**

His vague thoughts of kissing her proved futile though as Molly, oblivious to his intentions, fell back onto the grass and stretched her arms above her head. 'Well, I have to admit Sherlock. Your idea was a better one than mine. I've enjoyed today.'

She sat up and then started to stand. 'Shall we get back to the campsite? I quite fancy going to the little pub in the village tonight, what do you say?'

He let his lips quirk up at her happiness and enthusiasm. 'Sounds good to me. I always like a drink or something to relax me when I've finished a case.'

Molly glanced at him as they made their way back to the car. 'Yes, and I can imagine what that something sometimes is. Well you're sticking to the straight and narrow tonight mister; nothing stronger than alcohol.'

He mocked saluted to her and then laughed along with her. He felt more than content with his life at that moment.

By the time they got back to the campsite the weather had started to cool off as the sun started to make its way down to the horizon.

'I'm just going to get changed.' Molly gestured to the tent but Sherlock frowned. 'Why? I like what you're wearing now.'

He saw the faint blush spread over her cheeks at his compliment but she stood her ground. 'Well...um...thanks, but it's getting chillier.'

She made her way into the tent and flicked on the lamp to counteract the tent taking the edge off the dying sun. Sherlock knew it was a little immoral but he couldn't help but watch her silhouette as she pulled the dress off over her head before pulling on her jeans and a cotton jumper.

He knew he wanted her physically but he worried that any action now would just have the potential to ruin their friendship. He was honest enough with himself to know that he would make poor boyfriend material; even the term alone had him wincing and grimacing. If he were sensible he should just lock his feelings for her away and ignore them.

He went and freshened up in the shower blocks and changed out of his shorts and into his jeans paired with a button down shirt, still casual for him but he felt a little more like his London self and it strengthened his resolve to get the better of these pesky emotions. Sentiment was never something he'd accept or believe in as being positive. He looked in the mirror as he dried his face but couldn't help the feeling that he was making the wrong choice.

As he rejoined Molly back at the tent she frowned as she looked at him. 'Sorry, are you keeping that?'

She pointed to the stubble on his face as she commented and he ruefully rubbed his hand over his jaw.

'I mean I noticed you hadn't shaved this morning but I didn't really think to comment but it's getting quite noticeable now isn't it?'

He pursed his lips not liking to admit to an error but it seemed he had no choice. 'Yes, well in my haste to get down here it appears I forgot my razor. Why, don't you like it?'

Molly's eyes widened and she bit her lip making him wonder what she was thinking. 'No, no I do it's very...um...rakish.'

He wasn't quite sure what to make of that comment or the slight smirk as she turned away and he rubbed his hand over his face wishing once more he hadn't forgotten his shaver. He preferred to be clean shaven just as much as he preferred others to be.

The pub was like any normal village pub on a weekend full of both locals and holiday makers all mixing in together creating a buzz of energy and conversation. They made their way to the bar and ordered up some drinks before sitting down at one of the tables and it wasn't long before they were drawn into conversation by some of the people on the next table who were also down from London for a long weekend.

Sherlock found himself actively engaging in a conversation with the older woman in the group whom it turned out was a retired research chemist. Their fields of interest overlapped and Sherlock had even read a couple of her research papers back when he had been studying chemistry at university.

He lost track of Molly for a while knowing that she was engaged in her own conversations but it was only when his companion excused herself to go to the loo that he looked around to see where she had got too.

He quickly spotted her at the bar, where she had gone to buy them a new round of drinks, but she appeared to have been waylaid by one of the locals who was obviously chatting her up. His whole body language exuded flirtatious confidence. From the way he was turned to face her with a ridiculous grin stretched across his face to the way he kept pawing at her, a touch here, a touch there, laughing at her comments. Sherlock could feel anger and bile rising in his throat at the thought of this cretin touching his Molly.

He'd spent the day dwelling on his feelings for Molly going through the arguments for and against a relationship with her but as he sat watching her talk to this clot he started to understand that maybe there was no choice; no decision to be made. Now he had acknowledged he had feelings for her he had no other choice but to pursue them.

He was on his feet in a matter of moments and as he came up behind Molly he heard the guy asking her if she was single or here with someone.

'Well, I'm here with someone but we're not...'

'There you are Molly; I wondered where you'd got too.' As he came up beside her he put his arm around her shoulder. She looked up at him and he could see a look of confusion but he just ignored it as he bent his head and captured her lips in a short but very passionate kiss.

He wanted to take the kiss further but even he knew it wouldn't be appropriate in the middle of the pub so he reluctantly pulled away watching Molly's expression move from dazed to puzzled. In order to head off her questions he turned to the guy she'd been talking to and held out his hand. 'Hi, I'm Sherlock.'

The chap took his hand and shook it, giving his own name as Gary but Sherlock could see he had already lost interest. The chat was short and boring and then Gary excused himself with the lie that he'd seen a friend and Sherlock knew he would move on to his next target which was no doubt the two girls at the end of the bar. He had no inclination to tell him that they were in a relationship with each other and would have no interest in him instead he turned his attention to Molly whom he noticed was now starting to look exceedingly angry.

'Do you want to tell me what that was?' She held up one hand in a stop gesture, 'and don't try to play innocent like you don't know what I'm talking about.'

Sherlock sighed. 'Let's take our drinks outside. If you're going to slap me I'd rather there was a smaller audience.'

He picked up his pint and made his way into the small beer garden. Frustratingly this seemed to be where the smokers were and Sherlock made a point of breathing in deeply as they went past them, aching for a dose of nicotine to sooth his emotions; emotions he was very unused to feeling and dealing with.

He sat down at one of the tables with his legs either side of the bench and Molly sat next to him, facing him and mirroring his position.

'Well?'

He shrugged. 'I would have thought it's obvious.' He took a sip of his drink enjoying the feel of the cool liquid sliding down his throat.

'Not to me it isn't. He seemed really nice and he was interesting. You aren't my keeper you know. You can't go deciding who I date and who I don't.'

'Maybe I don't want you dating anyone.'

If he'd hoped she'd get the hint from that sentence that he wanted to be the one dating her he was sadly mistaken.

'Oh, that would suit you perfectly wouldn't it. Keep me a single old maid so I'm available at your beck and call every minute of the goddamn day...'

As she raised her voice Sherlock just found he was mesmerised by her. He wasn't listening to what she was saying he was just watching the colour rise in her cheeks, the way her breasts moved as she breathed more heavily. He found he just wanted to kiss her again and this time properly and so that's what he did.

He cupped her cheek with one hand hearing her squeak with shock and then his lips were on hers. This time he opened his mouth and tilted her head slightly so he could deepen the kiss and he was acutely aware of how it was making him feel. It was like he'd injected the best drug ever. His mind was completely focused on his physical reactions; the taste of her, the smell of her, her small hands first pushing on his chest and then gripping handfuls of his shirt and pulling him closer as she started to engage with the kiss.

He felt as well as heard her moan and it sent blood pulsing straight to his groin. He wanted to drag her onto his lap and feel the weight of her pressed against him. Whatever he'd thought kissing Molly would be like he had seriously underestimated it. In this moment he felt as though he could kiss her for the rest of his life and it would never be enough.

His hand was gripping her hip now, his other still holding her face and even though he was starting to feel dizzy he didn't want to break the kiss. His eyes were shut and all his thoughts were narrowing down to her lips and how they felt against his own. It felt almost desperate now, as though they were in a battle with each other for dominance of the kiss but neither was prepared to back down.

It was only when someone yelled 'get a room' that they broke apart both breathing heavily and staring at each other.

'Jesus, Sherlock...what the hell was that?'

He swallowed heavily as he tried to get control of his body and its reactions, glad his shirt was untucked and covering his crotch. He was gentleman enough to not want to embarrass either her or himself, not this early on into what he freely admitted now was a relationship.

'That was me, telling you that I like you.'

She let out a puff of air. 'I know you like me...oh...do you...I mean...like me like me.'

Now it was his turn to be confused. 'How many kinds of "like you" are there?'

She noted. 'With you...previously none, now...hundreds. I need you to spell this out for me Sherlock so there is no confusion.'

He took a deep breath. 'I like you Molly Hooper. More than like you. I would even go so far as to use the despicable term that I fancy you and I would like us to be in a relationship. Does that spell it out clearly enough?'

She was still frowning but he could see a burgeoning hope in her eyes. 'And this isn't some ploy, some fakery...you don't need me to go undercover with you?'

At this he couldn't help but smirk. 'Well, I was kind of hoping you'd go under the covers with me back at the tent but other than that there's no ulterior motive.'

'Oh.' She sat in silence for so long staring at the bench that he grew nervous and restless. 'Molly...talk to me. What's wrong?'

'Nothing...I'm just...well surprised that's all. Sherlock, you know how long I've liked you. I'd given up hope that we would ever be more than friends. It just seems...I don't know...it's going to take me a while to get used to the idea.'

'So what would help you get used to it quicker?'

She smiled and looked up at his nervously through her eyelashes. 'Maybe if you kissed me again.'

And so he did.

 **So have you forgiven me for not letting them kiss at the start of the chapter? And do you like StubbleLock?**

 **I'll be back soon with another exciting edition of Camping Fever! Stay tuned.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you all so so much for all your comments and reviews. It makes me really happy that you're all enjoying this little fic so much. Who would have thought a stubbly Sherlock in a tent would be so popular.**

 **Anyway the more astute of you will have noticed that the rating has flicked to an M. This chapter isn't too bad but I wanted to play safe.**

 **Chapter 8**

Molly could barely keep up with what was happening. It didn't help her concentration that she was once again kissing Sherlock. She was leaning on his lean thighs and she could feel the strong muscles beneath the course material of his jeans and the whole experience was wreaking havoc on her hormones.

His mouth was on hers...kissing her, his light stubble rubbing deliciously against her face, and she could feel his hands on her back. In fact it felt as though they were covering her whole back; the span of his hands seeming to reach from her shoulders to her waist. He'd just admitted to her that he liked her...fancied her even and whilst she still didn't trust this to be any more than that she was certainly happy to be enjoying the moment.

As his tongue entered her mouth she moaned and then felt embarrassed at her own reactions to him. She needed to catch her breath but she didn't want to stop kissing him for fear it might never happen again. Without realising what she was doing she moved her hands higher up in his thighs and he let out a low rumbling groan which had her insides spiking with lust and she knew she wanted more from him.

It was Sherlock who ended the kiss and Molly had to concentrate on her breathing as she tried to get herself back under control. She was glad to see he was breathing as hard as she was and his lips and cheeks both looked flushed. If she got to kiss him a third time she promised herself she would thread her fingers into his beautiful, thick, glossy hair, she needed to know if his curls were as soft and silky as they looked.

He caught her looking and smiled tilting his head towards her. 'Go ahead.'

She giggled as she brought her hands up sliding them into the hair at his temples and pulling lightly. She laughed a bit more when his eyes closed and he bit his lip to suppress a second groan. 'God Molly, don't do that. Not in public at least...you'll have me on my knees begging and I never beg.'

'Mmm don't tempt me,' she tugged again enjoying his moan and the way his eyes were dilated when he opened them to look at her once more. She reluctantly released his hair and picked up her wine glass almost relieved to have something else to concentrate on before she lost control and ravaged him in public.

'So, when did you start to have feelings for me?'

He rolled his eyes. 'Molly, I keep telling you that I've had feelings for you for a while. I just...well they were never overtly sexual and my work was always the most important thing.'

Molly pursed her lip not wanting to ask the next question but needing to. 'And now?'

He shrugged. 'My work is still important. I need it, it's the only thing to bring focus to my mind, to keep me sane, but maybe I need more than that. Maybe I just can't be without you any more. I've seen you with other men and...well, that guy at the bar was the final straw. I couldn't stand anyone else other than me in that role, not now. I'm not saying it will be easy Molly, being with me, but then you already know that, right?' He smirked as he looked sideways at her and she raised her eyebrows and grinned in acknowledgement.

She put her hand back on his knee and squeezed, enjoying having the freedom to just touch him. 'It's OK, we can just take it slow, there's no rush.' She missed the slight frown before he schooled his features. He felt sure he was able to go faster and right now but if Molly wanted to take it slower he wouldn't push her. He figured he needed to gain her trust.

Meanwhile as soon as the words left her mouth Molly was cursing herself. Why on earth did she suggest they take it slow, she would happily have gone back to the tent right now and stripped him naked before riding him into oblivion. Now she'd have to suffer lying next to him all night whilst simultaneously suppressing her horny desire for him.

They ended up having another drink and chatting about what they wanted to do the next day before they slowly made their way back to the camp site. Their progress was impeded a couple of times by their need to make out against the side of the pub, a tree and the car. Molly knew that the only thing better than the feel of Sherlock's body pressing against her own would be the feel of it naked against her own bare skin. They seemed to mutually accept the need to refrain from kissing in the tent. Molly knew that if they started now they wouldn't stop and she wasn't sure he was ready and he really wasn't. He found he didn't want to rush into anything much though his body protested his decision.

As Molly drifted off to sleep in his arms she wondered how much longer she might have to wait.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

It was early morning when Sherlock awoke; the sun seemed to be almost accentuated by the walls of the tent bathing both him and Molly in a golden light indicative of the orange tent.

It wasn't long before he remembered the developments of the night before and the feel of Molly's lips against his own. He felt a smile stretch across his face at the memory and knew he was looking forward to kissing her once again and hopefully so much more.

He was currently lying on his back with one arm wrapped around Molly who was lying across his chest, her head on his shoulder and her hand on his stomach. With anyone else he would have wanted to move them, to extricate himself from the situation but he just didn't want to. Instead he lay there listening to her breathing, feeling how warm and comforting she felt and more. It was the more that worried him the most.

He wasn't just relaxed and content he was aroused; very aroused.

He was used to awaking with an erection, it was a trial of being a man in a human body but this was more than that. He wasn't just hard, he was tempted and after last night he was horny as hell. His hand seemed to move of its own volition sliding in circles across the bare skin of Molly's shoulder and she hummed and moved against him sending shockwaves all the way down to his cock which strained against the thin confines of his pyjamas.

His mind seemed to be in a silent battle with his body and at this exact moment he wasn't actually sure which would win. The hormones racing through his body seemed overpowering. He wanted to slide her body across his own and thrust up into her.

He snapped his eyes open and stared at the ceiling of the tent as he fought to bring himself under control. There was no way he could or should act on his instincts even if he wanted to. He had no idea if it would be something Molly would want.

A sneaky voice at the back of head told him he knew exactly how Molly felt towards him. She loved him and from the way she had acted with him last night she wanted him as much as he now wanted her. He'd seen it but it had all seemed too new, too fresh so he'd agreed when she had talked about taking it slow. So the question was, was he ready now?

Molly shifted again bringing her leg over his and letting out a soft puff of air against his chest which had him suppressing a groan...god he wanted her so badly.

He didn't just want her physically but emotionally too. This wasn't just about sex, none of it was. He needed her. That was why he was here lying in this tent with her...because not having her around for the weekend would mean that he would be alone and being alone was neither good for him not something he wanted anymore. He'd already changed fundamentally when he'd let John in as his friend was this so much different. It was still love it just came with added perks.

Molly moaned and pressed herself against his leg and his mouth went dry with the realisation that she was aroused in her sleep. He wondered...was she dreaming of him?

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly Hooper was dreaming. She was dreaming that she were in bed with Sherlock Holmes and that he wanted to fuck her. She felt his hand on her breast and his mouth on her neck as she pressed herself against him eagerly seeking some sort of satisfaction from the aching longing between her legs. She wanted him more than she had ever wanted anything in her life.

She wanted to feel him pressing into her and filling her up. She wanted to see his face heavy with lust, looking down on her as he fucked her into oblivion. She let out a low moan and pressed herself against him...and that's when she awoke.

For a moment she was confused trying to remember where she was and why she appeared to be in bed with someone else and then it all came flooding back to her. Sherlock telling her he 'liked her and that he wanted to be in a relationship with her. The two of them kissing and touching on their way back to the tent but their agreement had been to take it slow. Molly didn't want to take it slow any longer if she didn't have to.

She seemed to be half lying across his body and she was painfully aware that she had just audibly groaned and pressed herself against his leg. Her only hope was that he was asleep. He wasn't.

As she looked up at him it seemed to set off some unspoken chain reaction as he fluidly turned them so that she was lying underneath him with her hand on his chest and his very obvious erection pressing into her thigh. They looked into each other's eyes for a single beat and then he bent his head to kiss her.

The feel of his lips on hers seemed to make her mind explode. There was no room for rational thought just the knowledge that he was kissing her; it was just as good as her memories from the night before except now she could feel his weight on top of her and the knowledge that he was here...with her...in this moment just made her greedily want more.

His kiss was hard and desperate opening her mouth and dominating her in a way that had her aching for him, she had never been interested in any kind of BDSM before but for a brief erotic moment she wondered what it would be like if he restrained her, if he blindfolded her and just took from her what he wanted. That fleeting set of images in her head had her groaning and scrabbling at his t shirt trying to remove it so she could feel his skin against hers.

 **Aaannnddd I think that's enough to be going on with don't you? Wouldn't want it all to be over too quick? Go on...let me know how cruel I am and I'll be back with part 2 soon xx**


	9. Chapter 9

**Thankfully it seems most of you are fairly forgiving of the fact that I left you at a crucial moment. I only hope the climax of it is as satisfying to you as it is to our erstwhile pairing.**

 **Chapter 9**

He broke off the kiss just long enough to help her remove his t shirt and also to pull her own top off and then his mouth and hands were on her breasts biting and sucking them, making her arch up into him. He'd moved his body so he was between her thighs and she shamelessly rubbed herself against him loving how hard he was for her and how much he stimulated her.

He moved his head from one breast to the other leaving his hand to continue to squeeze and toy with her wet, hard nipple and Molly knew she was going to climax. He seemed to sense it and he let his hand slide down and into her shorts.

She felt his hand move over her clit rubbing small circles, which had her moaning and crying out his name, before they moved further south. Slowly he slid his fingers into her slick warmth as the heel of his palm, weighted down by his body, continued to press against her clit.

He thrust his hips against his hand in a mock simulation of sex and Molly's climax broke, washing over her as she rode out wave after wave of pleasure. He kissed her once more and as she drowsily came back to her senses she wondered if he hadn't had to kiss her to reduce the amount of noise she was making. At that exact moment though she didn't care. All she cared about was having him inside her.

Once again they seemed to be perfectly in tune with each other as he pulled her shorts down her legs and when he settled back between her thighs she helped him push down his pyjamas, just enough to free his now leaking cock.

Molly could feel the velvet smoothness of his skin over the hardness of his shaft and she stroked him with her hand enjoying his obvious pleasure as his head fell to her shoulder and his breathing hitched with his own arousal. It wasn't long though before he begged her to stop and she brought her legs up around his slim hips opening herself up to him as she positioned him at her entrance.

He lifted his head and looked into her eyes as he slowly pushed into her and the weight of his gaze almost had her looking away, not able to bear seeing the extent of his desire for her; still not really believing that this were real and not just a figment of her imagination.

As he filled her completely Molly let out a groan of pure pleasure as she relished the feeling of being so completely connected to him in such a primal and basic way. She saw his eyes almost close as he struggled to cope with the feelings he was experiencing and when he opened them once more it was only long enough for him to take another kiss from her.

Every movement he made had her nerve endings react to him. His tongue in her mouth mirrored his cock inside her and she felt overwhelmed by him. She knew she was about to come again and the ferocity of her physical reactions almost scared her in their intensity. She moaned, she called his name, she swore, and her nails clawed at his back and his backside as she urged him on begging him to go harder and faster. This was Molly Hooper being well and truly fucked literally by the man of her dreams and she was loving every second of it.

When she did come she would have sworn she saw stars, the tent seemed to black out for a moment and though her eyes were open she couldn't see anything, her head fell back as her muscles clenched and unclenched and she heard and felt, rather than saw, him finally climax. He came with a final thrust and a low groan and he held himself as deep inside her as he could until finally his muscles gave out and he collapsed his weight on top of her.

For a moment they just lay together catching their breath before Sherlock bent to kiss her once more. This time the kiss was slow and almost verging on sweet before he pulled away and rolled off her.

It was about then that she realised that they hadn't used any protection and whilst she wasn't worried about pregnancy (she was on the pill) or STIs (she did his tests and her own and knew they were clean) she was in a bit of a mess. She gave him one last kiss and a smile before she grabbed her dressing gown and excused herself as she made her way to the shower block to clean up.

SHSHSHSHSHSHSHSHSH

Sherlock lay there blissfully for a couple of moments wondering how his memories of sex could be so far from the reality. He wondered if it was sentiment that had made the difference after all he had never felt anything for those he had fucked in the past. He decided it must be, there was no other logical explanation.

Finally he took a deep cleansing breath and sat up retrieving his t shirt so he could set about making himself and Molly some coffee. As the water boiled he wondered whether he could persuade Molly to just stay in the tent with him for the rest of the day indulging in sex but he gave a rueful smile knowing he'd need at least a short while to recover.

When she finally returned all clean and showered Sherlock thought she was glowing. It seemed sex suited her and sex with him, in his opinion, was bound to make her look especially radiant.

She couldn't help kneeling down at his side and pulling him to her for another kiss. When they pulled apart she smiled happily. 'No reason for that one, it was just because I could.'

He smirked cockily. 'You, Molly Hooper, can kiss me as often as you like so long as you promise me sex like that every day.'

She laughed. 'Every day might be a bit of a steep promise but I can't wait to do it again.' He was amused to see her look down in embarrassment and blush at being so forward with him. It had him reaching for her again and this time the kiss held the promise of more to come. 'Maybe we should just stay here today.' He suggested but she pushed him away with a giggle.

'Don't be daft, being cooped up in a tent would drive you potty and I don't want you to get bored of me too quickly.'

He frowned in confusion. 'I'm never going to get bored of you Molly.'

Her smile was a little sad as she said in a quiet voice, 'we'll see' before moving into the tent to get dressed.

In the end they settled on a day at one of the beaches near Bournemouth. It looked as though it would be hotter than the day before and whilst she'd had fun on the murder hunt she just wanted to chill out in one place.

They managed to find a reasonably quiet beach with a cafe, some toilets and a small promenade of shops and pubs. It was less crowded than the main Bournemouth beach and a bit closer to their camp site.

Within about ten minutes of arriving Sherlock was complaining to her that he was both too hot and bored.

'Go for a swim then, I assume you can swim.'

He just gave her a black look for that comment. 'Can't... haven't brought swimwear and it's a bit too public for skinny dipping, 'then in a lower voice he added, 'not to mention sex in the sea.'

'Sherlock!' He laughed at her blush but found it fun how easy it was to embarrass her. She obviously wasn't yet used to them being sexual partners and he intended to make the most of it.

'Why don't you go buy some swim shorts? There's bound to be some for sale in one of the shops.'

He huffed but followed her instructions whilst she lay down on her rug with her sunglasses and sun cream on for protection.

All was quiet and peaceful for about twenty minutes but just as she was starting to nod off in the sunshine she felt him step back onto the rug and the next minute he lay down at the side of her and put a warm hand on her bare abdomen.

'Mmm Molly you're all hot. Seeing you lying out like this barely dressed makes me want to lick every inch of your body...and I mean every inch.'

He got the desired blush and she sat up looking around to make sure none of the other beach goers had heard him. He sat up chuckling. 'Don't fret Molly no one heard. Unlike this morning, I think we woke up half the camp site.'

Her blush deepened and her mouth opened in horror. 'No, please say we didn't.'

He chuckled. 'Molly we were in a tent with walls a millimetre thick, they probably heard everything.' He bent down lower so his mouth was near her ear. 'They'll be hearing a whole lot more when we get back as well.'

He was tempted to kiss her but given his intention to go for a swim he thought he should refrain, it wouldn't do to get too aroused this early in the day.

The sea was just the right amount of cold given the hot day and the two of them alternated between swimming and lying in the sun. Sherlock had to admit that he was feeling quite relaxed as he lay there. He spent time in his mind palace organising it and working through some tests he wanted to do the following week. He was feeling quite hopeful that Molly would let him have the liver he'd been after for a while. Maybe there would be some additional but positive bonuses to their fledgling relationship.

By midafternoon though he was starting to get bored and getting bored meant harassing Molly. He offered to put some sun cream on her as she lay there; trying futilely to get a tan, didn't she know she had the wrong skin type...she was meant to be pale and he liked her that way. He was as slow and as thorough as he could be as he applied the cream and by the time he'd finished smoothing it up her legs and back they were both feeling the very erotic effects of it.

Molly rolled over and he bent over her, half lying across her as he kissed her. His tongue immediately invading her mouth, hearing her low moan in appreciation. He had to concentrate to keep his hands in PG locations and not have them thrown off the beach but maybe it was time for them to leave anyway.

Just then there was a strangled yelp from behind them and Sherlock looked around with a scowl.

'Sherlock! Molly! Bloody hell it is you two. What the hell are you doing here and what...what...'

'Take a breath Gavin, you look as though you might have a heart attack.' Sherlock cocked a smirk at the Detective Inspector but made no effort to move off an equally shocked Molly.

 **I know, shock and surprise right. For some reason I've had the image in my head of Lestrade coming across Molly and Sherlock, making out on a beach, for about a year (probably since my last beach holiday) and I've finally been able to put it in a fic.**

 **Anyone else pleased to see him or is he just a fly in the ointment?**


	10. Chapter 10

**It's the weekend…yippeeeee. And here I am back with another chapter for you guys to enjoy. Let's see the fallout from Greg appearing on the beach and why exactly he's there.**

 **Chapter 10**

Molly had to push Sherlock to one side so she could stand up, grabbing her kaftan as she did so she could cover up a little. She knew Greg well enough but still didn't want to stand talking to him wearing nothing but a bikini.

Greg's mouth had fallen open and his ice cream was beginning to melt over his hand but it took him a moment or two before he recovered enough to notice.

Molly smiled brightly, seeing the older couple who had stopped behind Greg and were even now smiling politely at her. 'Hi Greg. What brings you here?'

He gestured vaguely to the couple behind him and Molly suddenly noticed how similar the elderly man was to Greg, just an older version. 'Umm...just down here visiting my parents. They live here.'

At that his mum stepped forward with a smile and added, 'Greg, darling, aren't you going to introduce us to your friends?'

Her voice seemed to awaken him from his almost stupor and he turned a little to include his dad in the group. 'Yes...yes of course. Mum, Dad this is Molly Hooper. She's one of the pathologists that we use in the murder enquiries. She's based at Barts. Molly this is my Dad, Robert and my mum Sheila.'

Molly shook both their hands politely and made the usual platitudes about how nice it was to meet them. Greg then turned to Sherlock who was still lounging on the mat. Molly frowned and nudged him with her foot, gesturing for him to stand up.

'And this is Sherlock Holmes, Consulting Detective, genius and all round pain in the arse.'

'Greg!' Came the admonishment from his mother as she turned to a now standing Sherlock. 'So, you're the famous detective. Greg has told us so much about you but I have to say you're far more good looking in real life than your pictures in the paper would suggest...and far more informally dressed.'

Greg rolled his eyes and let out a pleading 'mum' which made Molly giggle imagining him as the little boy he must once have been. Sherlock meanwhile stepped forward and smiled his most charismatic smile as he shook her hand.

'I see you are far more intelligent and discerning than your son. It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs Lestrade.' She blushed at the detective whilst both Greg and Molly raised their eyebrows at his excessive charm.

'My parents were just going to go shopping after our walk but maybe we could go for a quick pint... catch up, you know.' He shot them a pleading look and Molly picked up on his desperate tone so even as Sherlock started to decline she intervened. 'Sounds like a plan. We were just saying we'd had enough of the beach, is there anywhere you can recommend?'

'Yes, The Anchor is pretty good and only two minutes walk.' He turned to his parents fixing up what time he should meet them and then waited whilst Molly and a grumbling Sherlock packed up their things.

'Tell me again why we're going for a drink because I'd far rather be having sex in our tent.'

Even as she blushed a bright red and glanced at Lestrade, the latter let out a choking noise. 'Too much information Sherlock and when did you two bloody well get together anyway?'

They started to make their way up the beach and Sherlock smirked and looked over his shoulder at the older man. 'I don't know why you're so surprised we've been together almost a year.'

'A YEAR!' Greg's eyes almost bugged out of his head as Molly shook her head. 'Ignore him he's winding you up. We've only just got together in the past couple of days. It's very recent.'

When they arrived at the pub Molly and Sherlock found a table outside at the front and waited whilst Greg went to order their drinks. Sherlock turned to Molly and slid his hand up her bare thigh, underneath her chiffon wrap. 'Tell me again why we've come for a drink. I can think of so many things I'd rather be doing, one of which is giving you stubble rash in places Lestrade will never see.'

He bent his head and kissed up the side of her neck and Molly's eyes almost rolled back into her head at the sensations she was feeling.

'Mmmm stop it...that feels too good. It's only one drink...he seemed a little fed up with his parents.'

Sherlock didn't stop but instead started to kiss along her jaw hearing her light moan. 'I can understand that I suppose but I'd far, far rather be fucking you.' He kissed her and for a moment Molly just gave into it wanting him as much as she knew he wanted her. It was only when she heard Greg clearing his throat that she remembered they were very much in public.

Greg placed their drinks in front of them then sat down before taking a long draught of his pint. 'So come on, spill. What's going on with you two?'

Molly stayed quiet and looked at Sherlock wondering what he might say. His hand was still on her thigh and he squeezed it lightly under the table making her catch his gaze. He held eye contact with her for a moment and smiled before he answered Lestrade.

'What can I say? I finally stopped fighting my feelings for Molly. All these years I'd thought that work was the only thing that was important to me but I was wrong. Friendship and love are just as important. Anyway, I'm just lucky she hadn't already been snapped up, I know there were others interested.' His eyes narrowed a little as he looked at Greg but Greg just ignored his insinuation even if his cheeks did colour a little.

'Well, it sound like you're being sincere even if it does sound completely unlike you. I take it you'd know if he were high or something?' He asked Molly who frowned and snapped. 'Yes, I would and he isn't. I resent you implying he'd only be with me if he were on drugs.'

Greg held his hands up. 'Sorry, sorry it's just weird, it's gonna take me a bit of time to get my head round it. Does anyone else know?'

Sherlock sipped at his drink and shook his head. 'No, you're the only one. I don't have a problem with others knowing though. Just so long as I don't have to be referred to as a boyfriend. I hate that term it's anatomically wrong and makes my skin crawl.'

Molly chuckled. 'What are you then?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know...lover, partner, fiancé...take your pick.'

He didn't seem to notice the stunned expression on his companion's faces. Molly coloured up and it was left to Greg to point out what Sherlock had just said.

'Steady on mate. Sounds like you're proposing when you've only just got together. Molly'll snap you up if you're not careful.'

Sherlock titled his head. 'It really is a strange fickle world for the rest of you isn't it. Do you not know your own minds at all? I love Molly. I've made the decision to be with her. I'm not the sort of person to fall in love lightly or change my mind about it so given societies preference and legal framework in support of marriage it's the logical conclusion to our coupling.'

Molly found her voice. 'Maybe so, but if we decide to get married I'd kind of prefer you to ask me a little more romantically and traditionally.'

Sherlock turned to her. 'Fine, just let me know how long society expects us to wait and then I'll get down on one knee. Would that make you happy?'

Molly knew he was getting a little exasperated, he had always hated having to confirm to societal conventions but she didn't care, even just the thought that he may one day propose to her made her feel a little giddy. She couldn't help the wide grin which had spread across her face and she wasn't sure it would disappear anytime soon. 'Yes, it would make me very happy. But I'll let you choose the time, there's no rush...sometime in the next week will be fine.'

He took a double take and then laughed leaning forward to catch her lips in a brief but emotionally charged kiss and when they broke apart Molly noticed Greg discreetly looking in the opposite direction to give them a little privacy.

She was about to drink up and suggest that Sherlock did the same when Greg's phone rang.

'Lestrade.'

His voice made it obvious that it was work and both Sherlock and Molly watched as his face took on a more serious expression.

'When? Well what about Gregson...fine, fine. No, I can be back by...' He glanced at his watch. 'Four o'clock. I'll text you the exact time of the train, get a car to pick me up from Waterloo.'

As soon as he hung up Sherlock was quizzing him on the case.

Greg reluctantly pushed his half-drunk pint to one side as he answered. 'There's been some kind of incident in London, all hands on deck. Someone has been lacing random cups of coffee with cyanide. Three people dead so far and two more in hospital...spread across various venues in the City.'

Molly saw Sherlock's expression light up and she knew immediately that their holiday together was at an end. She felt a little sad but she knew him and he wouldn't be happy staying behind and missing out on what he would see as 'the fun.' She also knew that she loved him as he was, faults and passions and all. She had no interest in changing him. It was that that made her put her hand on his arm, gaining his attention.

She smiled. 'Why don't you go with him?'

He narrowed his eyes, assessing her, no doubt to see if she were being sincere. Then he smiled in return. 'Fine. I'm assuming you want to finish your holiday.' She nodded. 'OK just...let me know when you're back and come to Baker St when you do, we still have unfinished business.'

She saw Greg roll his eyes but she didn't care. She just leant forward and kissed him. 'Go, solve this and save people. It's what you do best. I'll see you in a couple of days.'

She watched as the two men gathered their belongings and made their way down the seafront looking for a cab to take them to the main station in Bournemouth. Greg was phoning his parents to let them know and Sherlock was texting John to see if he'd be able to meet them.

Yes, she was sad that their time together had been cut short but she knew she'd be better off holding onto him with silver chains than iron shackles. She remembered when she'd been a little girl and her nan saying that that was the secret to a happy relationship. It didn't stop her missing him the moment she saw the cab drive away.

 **So, the stories winding up a little. Just one more chapter to go, I hope you're not too disappointed. I'll post the final chapter on Sunday and then we can embark on a new fic...I've got a good one coming up for you all.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Well here we are again at the end of another fic. Thank you all so much for taking this ride with me. I'm so, so glad you all enjoyed it and I only hope that I don't let you down with the ending.**

 **It's been a lot of fun hearing all your tales and adventures of camping and if any of you have any ideas for future fics just let me know.**

 **Chapter 11**

Sherlock texted John a couple of times from the train and was pleased when he received the reply that given the level of the crime of course he would be available to help. He responded with details of his and Greg's arrival time and requested that John go to Baker St to retrieve some more appropriate clothing for him as he was still in the shorts and t shirt that he'd worn to the beach.

He ignored John surprise text back querying where he was and why he needed clothes. It wasn't relevant...the case was what was important.

He and Greg received regular reports from Lestrade's team as they travelled back and Sherlock made several requests for information along with demands that the CCTV footage be ready and waiting for them when they returned.

The journey was irritatingly long but they finally made it to Waterloo station and the car that was waiting for them as requested. John was already atat Scotland Yard and duly handed over Sherlock's shirt, suit and shoes whilst frowning at his friends current ensemble.

'So tell me again why you are in shorts and t shirt.'

'I didn't tell you the first time so how can I tell you again?'

'Just tell me Sherlock.'

'I was on holiday.'

John's head reared back a little at this. 'You...on holiday...with Greg?'

Now it was Sherlock's turn to frown. 'No, of course not with Greg...with Molly.'

By now he'd finished changing and the two of them were making their way into the main office where Greg was leaning over the shoulder of one of his seated team looking at something on their computer.

'You were with Molly...Molly Hooper...the pathologist.'

'Is this relevant to the case John because I really don't think it is. What have you got for us Gavin?'

Lestrade took a deep breath at the incorrect name but then smiled sweetly as though something had occurred to him. 'CCTV pictures from two of the coffee shops which seem to have been targeted, we're trying to see if we can match up any of the customers.'

Sherlock touched the shoulder of the seated officer. 'Move, let me see.'

The young policeman looked at Lestrade who rolled his eyes before nodding. The young man slid out of the seat and Sherlock sat down. 'It's not clothing you want to look for, it's characteristics. The killer will give himself or herself away somehow.'

He fell silent as he scrolled through two feeds of footage with John and Greg watching behind him. As they waited Greg leant towards John and in a low voice added, 'talking of clothing. I was quite surprised by how little Sherlock and Molly had on when I came across them.'

John's head spun round so fast Greg wondered for a moment if he wouldn't get whiplash. His forehead was creased with lines as he looked between Greg and Sherlock, the latter of whom seemed to have either not heard or was ignoring them.

'And where was this again?'

'They were on a beach just near where my parents live in Christchurch...just down the coast from Bournemouth.'

'Yeah, you should have...'

Sherlock cleared his throat. 'You know we do have a case here ladies. Maybe we could focus on that.'

John patted the air with his hand. 'Yes that's what you're here for. This is far more interesting.' He turned back to Greg. 'So what was going on?'

But this time Greg shifted uncomfortably. 'Well, it's not really for me to say...'

'Oh for Gods sake, we were kissing alright. Molly and I were kissing and to be honest we'd be having sex right about now if we hadn't bumped into Gavin and I hadn't been dragged back to London. Now can we please concentrate. This person here...can we zoom in...'

Lestrade wanted to laugh at the expression on John's face. He wasn't sure he had ever seen anyone look more surprised than he did at that moment. But...he had a job to do and Sherlock was right they needed to concentrate. He called over one of his team to help.

MHMHMHMHMHMHMHMH

Molly made her way back to her tent alone. It was funny, she'd been more than happy to camp by herself when she'd arrived a couple of days ago but now she just felt restless and a bit lonely.

She spent the evening reading her book and sipping on her wine but all she could think about were the last couple of days with Sherlock. The trouble was the more she thought the more uncertain she became. It was starting to take on the feeling of a dream and it was only the fact that he had left some of his belongings in the tent that proved to her he had actually been there.

She wondered if anything would be different when she returned to London. Maybe it had all just been a kind of holiday madness and he'd revert to his normal distant and emotionless self when she got back. She wondered if she'd be able to live with knowing what sex with him was like if she couldn't do it again and she wasn't sure she could bear it.

It didn't help that the tent was cold without him and she struggled to stay warm enough to sleep. She kept waking up shivering and with a memory of being able to snuggle up close to him and draw heat from his body on the nights previously.

When she got up the next day she knew she needed to go home. The whole thing had lost its appeal and she just needed to see Sherlock and find out how the land lay.

By ten she was packed up and on her way back; though she did stop off for a couple of hours in Winchester to visit the cathedral and the old Great Hall. There was no point her getting back too early as she figured Sherlock would still be busy with the case. She'd heard a bit of the news in the car and it sounded as though there had been no breakthrough in the case.

Four hours later she had dropped off the hire car and was arriving home. It felt a little strange being back but Toby was more than pleased to see her and she spent some time sorting out her washing before luxuriating in a steaming hot bubble bath. As she got out she noticed a text in her phone.

 **Case is more or less solved I should be back in Baker St in an hour. I assume you're back so meet me there. SH**

She frowned at his abrupt wording and that then gave way to a worry that rather than this being a romantic meet up it was more likely to be a break up meeting. Now she was back home their brief liaison seemed even more unlikely. Could she really see them together, as a couple, here in London?

She sat on the side of her bed, hardly noticing Toby mewing and pressing himself up against her leg looking for attention. She felt ill at the thought of him giving her the brush off and angry that he might have used her. She had no other choice though but to get herself dressed and head over. The situation wouldn't resolve itself.

When she arrived at Baker St though it was to an empty flat. Mrs Hudson had greeted her warmly, expressing surprise at her arrival but having no concerns about showing her up to Sherlock's flat even though he wasn't home yet.

'I hear you went on holiday. Did he find you in the end? He was in ever such a tizz looking for a tent.'

Molly confirmed he had indeed found her but that his tent hadn't worked out so well and Mrs Hudson had a good giggle over the image of him struggling ineffectually to put it up.

'Well I'd better get on Molly dear, I'm off out tonight with my gentleman friend. Tell Sherlock not to wait up for me, I might get lucky.' She winked at a slightly shocked Molly and then left her alone with just her thoughts and anxiety for company.

She sat on the settee for a moment looking around at his home, feeling his presence in every book and artefact she saw. It was all so very Sherlock. Eventually she made her way into the kitchen and was just in the process of making herself a cup of tea when she heard the door open downstairs and knew 'he' was here. She could hear a quick exchange between Sherlock and Mrs Hudson then the front door opened and closed again signifying Mrs Hudson's departure for her date. A moment later and she could hear his footsteps on the stairs and her stomach swooped at the thought of seeing him again.

He swept into the flat swinging off his coat and smiling as he saw her. 'Ah Molly, good you got my text.' He looked slightly incongruous with the stubble from the holiday combined with his normal suited and booted image. Molly had to admit though that she had rarely seen him looking more sexy and it gave her a pang of anxiety when she thought about the possibility of him breaking her heart.

It was as he removed his jacket that she noticed a dark stain across the front of his shirt and for a split second she thought he might have been injured. He must have seen her expression because he shook his head and started to undo his cuffs.

'We caught the perpetrator in CoffeeCentral just off Oxford Street. Once I'd taken a look at all the case details there was an obvious pattern and it was only a matter of time before she showed up. John and I were inside the cafe with Lestrade's team outside. I confronted her and had a latte thrown at me for my troubles. Thankfully it was reasonably cold, just a cup off a nearby table but this shirt is ruined.'

He'd started unbuttoning the shirt and Molly found her mouth running dry at the sight of his skin slowly being revealed to her.

'So...' She swallowed hard, forcing herself to go on. 'Why did you want me to meet you?'

He frowned first and then smiled albeit in a slightly confused way. 'Well, I would have thought that were obvious Molly.' He started to walk towards her, his shirt now untucked and hanging open making Molly want to run her hands over his chest.

'You...erm...still want to do this then...us?'

He bit his lip and slowly nodded his head. 'Yes, I still want to do this. Did I give you any reason to think I wouldn't?'

'No but I umm...'

He gave a small intake of breath as he narrowed his eyes. 'But you thought that being back in London might make me change my mind. You thought I might have invited you here to what...dump you? Far from it Molly Hooper. I invited you here in the hope that I'd be able to have sex with you or would you prefer the term make love or that I fuck you.'

He was so close now and Molly looked up at him and this time she knew she could touch him. She let her hands rest on the bare skin of his chest feeling his heart beat steady and strong under the palm of her right hand. She smiled up at him cheekily. 'How about all three?'

Then she leant forward and kissed the slight scar that denoted his gunshot wound from the previous year and thanked the gods once again that they had let him live.

Slowly she let her hands slide down his front, kissing her way across his chest as she did. He felt so warm and smelt of coffee, unsurprisingly, and cigarettes. She bit down lightly on his nipple and loved the low groan that he let out, then he brought his hands to her head and pulled her away so he could bend his head and kiss her.

Molly was glad that she was pinned between Sherlock and the kitchen cupboards because if she hadn't been she swore she would have been in danger of her knees buckling. Her mouth opened to his automatically and he literally took her breath away; his kiss making her dizzy with need and desire for him. Her hands couldn't get enough of his body and she pushed his shirt off his shoulders until he let her go long enough for it to flutter soundlessly to the floor.

Then his hands were back on her and this time they were busy pulling at the fastenings of her trousers until his hand could slide inside her pants. The feeling of his fingers entering her made her gasp and break off from the kiss and she stared at the ceiling momentarily until her eyes closed as she gave into the sensation of his hand moving in and out of her. His mouth had moved to her neck and she could feel him sucking and biting on the skin and knew she would be marked but she didn't care. She wanted to be branded by him. For everyone to know that she was his and he hers.

'God...oh god..don't stop...oh...' She started to come and wasn't sure she'd ever stop; her inner muscles convulsing around his fingers but even as it ended she wanted more. He kissed her as he withdrew his hand but when he moved back and away from her, indicating they should go to the bedroom she just sank to her knees in front of him with her hands moving to his trousers.

He staggered back a little as she started to undo the fastenings and ended up leaning against the kitchen table as she finally managed to extract his erection. She hummed in delight and smiled as she took him in hand, looking up at him to see him staring down at her with his eyes half shut and his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

She let her tongue swirl around his glans tasting the pre-cum that had leaked out of him as he'd felt her come against his hand. Her hand tensed around him enjoying the way it made him pulse in return and when she finally took him into her mouth she heard him groan and saw the way his hands clenched around the edge of the table for support; his knuckles quickly turning white.

Gradually she took him deeper and deeper until her hand was wrapped around his base and the rest of him was buried inside her mouth and throat and she knew if she kept it up for much longer he wouldn't be able to last. As she released him she let her teeth graze along the length of him and felt him shudder as he desperately tried to hold onto his control.

She stood and held onto his waist as they kissed, their tongues mingling and dancing with each other; his hips rocking lightly against her.

This time when he moved towards the bedroom she followed; their hands entwined together.

'Jesus, Molly you have no idea how much I want you right now.' Was all he muttered as he kissed down her neck after pulling her top off. His hands went around her back and he made short work of the clasp of her bra before pulling it down her arms and off. Then he finished undoing her trousers, watching as she removed them along with her pants until she was stood naked before him.

His own clothes followed shortly after and then he pushed her down onto the bed before covering her body with his own.

She thought he might have wanted to have sex with her straight away but instead he moved his head to her breasts, using his knee and his thigh between her legs to start to add pressure to her already sensitive core. By the time he had finished kissing and biting each of her nipples in turn she was panting and saying his name over and over; begging him to give her some kind of release.

This time as he brought his face back up to hers she could feel him resting between her thighs and the tip of his cock starting to press against her. She automatically brought her legs up to cradle him and as they kissed he entered her bit by frustrating bit until she was gasping and too distracted to kiss him anymore. Her hands were pressing on his backside, pulling him into her and urging him to go faster and deeper and he didn't disappoint.

This time when she came he came with her and the feeling of his seed pulsing into her and his hands gripping her shoulders as he pulled her onto him made her cry out as wave after wave of pleasure hit her.

Eventually he withdrew and she felt empty and hollow without him inside her; vaguely wondering how long they'd need to wait until they could have sex again. She'd never felt like this with anyone else but him, he made her feel like a horny teenager.

They lay together in the growing darkness and Sherlock lay his head on her breast whilst she absent-mindedly played with his hair. Sherlock hummed in satisfaction as her hands threaded through his hair over and over.

'Mmm maybe you can camp out here in my bedroom.'

Molly smiled into the darkness. 'How long for?'

He kissed the side of her breast and she felt his head tilt up so he was facing her.

'Forever!'

 **There you go, was the final chapter good enough? If anyone is wondering about the Winchester Great Hall reference some of the filming for Ben's Richard III took place there and I managed to see him for a couple of seconds during one of his breaks...only from a distance but still! It seemed fitting to make reference to it given Molly would be driving right past to get back to London.**

 **Anyway give me your final thoughts, I love hearing from all of you, and I'll be back soon with the fic I was originally going to go with when I got side tracked by this one. I'll start it very, very soon.**


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